A Burlesque Translation of Homer
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[2] A sea-term.
[3] Ale with roasted apples in it is called lamb-wool.
[4] Fried beef and cabbage is a dish so well known by the name of bubble-and-squeak in town, that it is only for the sake of my country readers I insert this note.
THE TWELFTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD
ARGUMENT
The Grecian curl'd and knotty patesAre driv'n behind their shabby gates.Hector comes on in furious haste,Their mangey sides and ribs to baste;But on a sudden as he goes,Finds a small ditch across his nose;On which Polydamas roars out,Though carts and horses cannot do't,On foot we'll quickly rumble through't;For though what horses we have gotCan leap, we're sure the carts cannot.This counsel, though it did not costA single tester, was not lost;Both cut and long-tail, black and grey,With all their carts they sent away;Then fell by th' ears, when to their viewAppear'd a long-legg'd heron-sueThat sh – an eel: at this dread sightPolydamas, in woeful fright,Comes to his brother Hector puffing,And begg'd him to give over cuffing.Hector, resolv'd to make 'em feel,Damn'd both the heron-sue and eel;And since he's got so far, he swearsHe'll pull their wall about their ears.Sarpedon too made dismal rout,And threw their hedging-stakes about;Pulling them from the wall so fast,He made a swingeing gap at last.Then Hector takes him up a stone,Such as our miles are mark'd upon,Or rather less: with this he battersTheir gates, and breaks them all to shatters;Then rushing forward dusts their coats,And drives them all on board their boats.HOMER'S ILIAD
BOOK XIINow whilst Patroclus play'd the quack,The mob each other's bones did thwack,Gave and receiv'd confounded rapsWith many a dowsing slap o' th' chaps.On Childermas, a luckless day,Their shabby wall of mud, they say,Was rais'd, which made it soon give way.But Homer had a better reason,Why it would hardly last a season:They hurried so to get it up,They did not kill a single tup,Or bull, or cow, to give their packOf wooden gods a little snack:This made their hungry parsons grumble,And swear by G-d the wall would tumble;And such a case, I'm pretty clear,Would make a Christian parson swear —When people cease their gods to serve,The jolly priests of course must starve.For far less crimes the bulls of RomeHave kick'd and scar'd all Christendom;To every age and every stationRoaring perdition and damnation;And had not one Sir Luther MartinFound that their roaring was but farting,To this good day our empty skullsHad been humbugg'd by Peter's bulls.They say, if God don't build the house,Your labour is not worth a louse;But if he builds, we surely thenShould keep and pay his journeymen.His journeymen! Pray who are they,That we must keep as well as pay?Why, reverend priests, you head of cod!They are the journeymen of God:And rare good journeymen they make,All kinds of work they undertake;For, be it spoken to their praise,They'll do their duty twenty ways;And, rather than they'll live in strife,Will do your duty for your wife:In short, a well-taught priest will tryTo finger ev'ry mutton-pie.Howe'er, in spite of all their swearings,This wail, till they were dead as herrings,Stood on its legs, though thump'd about,And liv'd to see both parties out.But when the Trojan bones were rotten,And all the Grecian rogues forgotten,The neighb'ring streams did all they couldTo undermine these walls of mud:Their names were Rhesus and Scamander,On which swam many a goose and gander;Æsepus and Heptaporus,With Simois and Grenicus;Caresus full of guts and blood,And Rhesus black with kennel-mud:They say, Apollo muster'd allThese streams to tumble down this wall;And lest their labour should be vain,Jove sent a thund'ring shower of rain;Then Neptune seiz'd the time to work,And play'd the devil with his fork,Threw all the dirt about and sticks,Old broken pots, and ends of bricks;And, like our bumkins spreading dung,The mud and stones about he flungSo dext'rously, he laid the shoreAs level as it was before;(Which made th' next generation swear,The de'il a wall had e'er been there;But Homer knew there was, and IAm sure th' old fellow scorn'd to lie).And now the rivers fac'd aboutTo find their ancient currents out;Some to cross vales and drain out bogs,Others to wash the sties of hogs.But this would be some other term,As yet it stood secure and firm;Nor had the Trojans done it hurt,Though they kept pelting stones and dirt;And half the Greeks in woeful frightDurst not so much as tarry by't:For, thinking Hector very soonWould knock their crazy bulwarks down,And, not content to overturn 'em,Go stave their rotten boats, or burn 'em,The better half of these bold fightersRan like bewitch'd to launch their lighters.For an excuse the cowards allSwore Jove had had so great a callFor courage all that week, his storeCould not produce a spoonful moreTo help the luckless Greeks this bout,And their own brandy-cask was out.Pale Fear, when brandy did not back 'em,Was always ready to attack 'em;Which now she did in Hector's shape,And made the varlets run and gape;For, just as schoolboys kick a ball,This furious Trojan kick'd 'em all:Like a mad ox32 from Smithfield drivenBy butchers' scoundrels, John and Stephen,That gores and tosses in the airThe blind and lame that can't get clear.Thus ev'ry Greek that wanted cunning,Or heels to save himself by running,Hector belabour'd with his switch,Or kick'd him quite across the ditch:But when the Trojans reach'd the sideOf this great ditch, full three feet wide,It made a shift to stop their courses;Ditches won't do for carts and horses.The wise Polydamas soon sawThe cart-tits could no further go,So cock'd his mouth, and cry'd Halloo,Hip, brother Hector, hark, a word!This ditch will stop us, by the Lord!Unless with one consent we 'light,And boldly march on foot to fight;Therefore do you, and ev'ry friendThat came a helping hand to lend,To this my good advice attend:Our tits can do no more, I think,Than bring us to the very brinkWhere now we stand; but if we make 'emAttempt to leap, 'tis odds we stake 'emUpon a plaguy ugly rowOf bakers' billets there below:Besides, betwixt the ditch and wallThere is not room for carts and all.Though the great thund'rer Jove this boutHas help'd the Trojans rarely out,And made the Grecians fight so tardy,Don't let it make our nobs fool-hardy.If he these varlets will demolish,And all their sweaty race abolish,The only wish that I can lend 'emIs, that he'll let the devil mend 'em:But should they see us in this jobCrowded just like an English mob,Where we can neither fight nor run,They'd smash us ev'ry mother's son;Nor would the rogues one Trojan spareTo tell the world what fools we were.Then gape with great attention, pray,And swallow ev'ry word I say.We must, to make these rascals mind us,Send all our nags and carts behind us:When Hector leads us on a-foot,The odds are six to one we do't:This is the only way to get 'em,And this good day, please God, we'll sweat 'em.Hector was pleas'd within his heartWith this advice; so left his cart,Jump'd on the ground with such a bang,It made his metal buttons twang;Which when the other bloods did see,They all jump'd down as well as he,And bid their drunken carters file off,And wait i' th' rear about a mile off;Then into five good sturdy packsDivided all their bully backs.The first, a race of bucks to stand by,Were headed by the Trojan Granby,Call'd Hector in the Greek; he wasAssisted by Polydamas,And bold Cebriones, a wightCould drive a cart as well as fight.The second, and a sturdy band,The whoring Paris did command:Alcathous lent this varlet help,And bold Agenor join'd the whelp.The third obey'd two sons of Priam,Fellows almost as tall as I am;Deiphobus, a mighty Sir,And Helenus, a conjurer;To whom was added Asius,A fiery buck from Hyrtacus;His geldings were a yellow dun,But better cart-tits never run.Antenor's sons the fourth obey'd,Join'd with that presbyterian bladePious Æneas*, who, they say,Could stoutly box as well as pray;Which none will wonder at, that hearsHe serv'd Old Noll in all his wars,Whose rogues, unlike our modern dull dogs,Could pray like saints, and fight like bull-dogs.The last tough band was drove with speed onBy a bold fellow call'd Sarpedon,A Lycian country 'squire, whose houndsHad almost eaten up his grounds,Which made him venture in this fray,Like some of our militia,To box for honour and for pay.Glaucus did help to guide this crew,And bold Asteropæus too —Two bucks as bold as bold could be,But he was boldest of the three.Each hardy Trojan, as he goes,Holds up his pot-lid o'er his nose,For fear he might in this tough boutGet one or both his eyes knock'd out.Thus they proceed through mud and mire,Spurr'd onward with a keen desireTo set the Grecian boats on fire;Certain their hopes will now be crown'dTo see the scoundrels burnt or drown'd.Whilst thus the Trojans, sans delay,Their leader's good advice obey,The huff-bluff Asius kept his dray,And drove his tits along the plain,But never brought 'em back again.No more this giddy headstrong boyJe-up'd his yellow duns to Troy;But, when he reach'd the other side,Idomeneus drubb'd his hide.Now to the left he smok'd along,Amidst a motley Grecian throngOf rogues, that made confounded skipsTo reach their rotten boats and ships:None look behind to help their mates,But dart like lightning through the gates.As rabbits pop into their holesWhen dogs disturb 'em, so in shoalsThe Greeks forsook each brake and thicket,And popp'd their noddles through the wicket:When they were there, the better halfCould hardly think they yet were safe.Thither this hair-brain'd hero flewWith his mad, roaring, ranting crew,In wondrous hopes the Greeks to souse,Hopes that turn'd out not worth a louse.Two bloods sprang up to guard the gates,With brawny backs, and bomb-proof pates.Since to relate their names it meet is,I'll do't: The first was Polypœtes;Pirithous us'd to trim his mother,And got him; but who got the otherI can't assert, or when or where:That he was got is pretty clear,And christen'd too, because his dadCall'd him Leontius when a lad:Both from the Lapith race did spring,Bold rogues as ever stretch'd a string.Like two thick posts of oak or fir,That neither carts nor drays can stir(Though drunken draymen drive their drayAgainst them forty times a day),So firmly stood before the gatesThis pair of bloods with wooden pates,Nor car'd a straw what Asius' crewOf roaring, noisy whelps could do;Though in his front Orestes wasJoin'd with a buck call'd Acamas;And Onomaus did appearWith serjeant Thoon in the rear.But all the airs that they could put onDid hardly signify a button.They made a dreadful hubble bubble,But got their labour for their trouble.The besom-shafts that hit the gates,And those that hit these fellows' pates,Bounc'd with the very self-same sound,From gates and pates upon the ground;Which proves that both were sure enoughMade of the self-same kind of stuff.But still these Lapiths fight and bawl,And on the Grecian blackguards call:Yet though they saw the rascals run,As English guards by chance have done,They ventur'd by themselves to stay,Nor would they stir an inch, not they.Like Amadis de Gaul, these elvesFac'd a whole army by themselves.Thus have I seen in bushy groundsTwo badgers fight a pack of hounds,Bite to the bone each forward whelp,And make the puppies run and yelp:So these two bucks maintain the battle,Though broomstaves made their noddles rattle.Now whilst the Greeks possession keepO' th' walls, they box it ancle-deepTo save their rotten boats and lighters —The devil never saw such fighters.As when a keen north wind doth blow,And brings along both sleet and snow,You cannot see, so fast it snows,Above a yard before your nose:As thick as this, or very nigh,Brickbats and stones and broomshafts fly,Spring from their buff-skins with a bound,And hollow pates and potlids sound.When Asius found his labour lost,To make these hangdogs quit their post,Nor stir an inch, do all he could,He then began to damn his blood;And in a furious passion cries,Not me but Jove himself tells lies!Else we should long ago have sous'd 'em,And either in the salt-sea dows'd 'em,Or fir'd their boats and sing'd the dogs,As city butchers singe their hogs.But like a swarm of wasps hard prest,That gather thick to guard their nest,Like them, this spiteful Grecian fryKick, scratch, and bite, and sting, and die.But what most frets my guts and gall,Two thick-skull'd scoundrels stop us all;'Tis easier far to break the gatesThan either of these rascals' pates.Whilst thus he fum'd as if he'd split,Jove did not mind his noise a bit,But sat consid'ring with great care,How all the glory he could spareMight fall to honest Hector's share.Like a poor taylor pinch'd for clothTo make a suit, yet very lothTo give it up, and leave undoneA job he'd set his heart upon;So Jove, who promis'd Troy he'd let 'emKick all the Greeks about, and sweat 'em,Was rather puzzled how he mightManage this hubble-bubble fight,And not destroy the Grecians quite.But yet he swears, though hard put to't(Like Snip the taylor with his suit),He'd find some way to piece it out.The Trojans tried the other gates,And in return got broken pates;Nor was that all, for show'rs of stonesThe foremost hit, and brake their bones.O Butler's spirit! help me outTo sing each deed and hero stout;How Greece, like battle-royal cocks,Both gave and took most bloody knocks,Whilst all the gods, for whom these sinnersHad often cook'd up handsome dinners,Durst neither wag a hand or footTo help their crony Grecians out —Not but they long'd to join the riot;Jove made the rogues and jades be quiet.But though the Grecian gods were civil,Yet, by th' assistance of the devil,Or some old Scots or Lapland witches,This pair of thick-skull'd sons of bitchesIn mighty wrath kept boxing on,And knock'd the foremost Trojans down.One Damasus, a bully rock,A fellow that would nim a smockFrom off a hedge if it was loose,Or steal a barn-door fowl or goose,From Polypœtes got a pat,That knock'd his brains out through his hat;Then Ormenus he tumbled down,And crack'd poor Peter Pylon's crown,An honest soul that kept a pot-houseA little way from Greening's hot-house.Leonteus then began to stickle,And laid Hippolachus in pickleHe kept, before the Trojan war,An oilman's shop near Temple-bar.Next way'd his quarter-staff, and soonA buckle-maker of renown,Antiphates, came rumbling down:Just as he stepp'd from out the ranks,He reach'd his legs and broke his shanks.Iamenus, a great hot-presser,With Menon too, a leather-dresser;He nick'd them as full butt they came on,And in his passion laid a lame on,By which the first got finely press'd,And t'other had his skin well dress'd.Orestes last, a country put,Got such a cursed knock o' th' gut,It made him gape so wide, the swainCould never shut his mouth again.Now Hector and PolydamasWere cuffing at another pass,Back'd by a blust'ring Trojan crewOf fellows pick'd, and all true blue,Resolv'd to fire the Grecian fleet,And Hector just stark mad to see't;When, lo! i' th' midst of all the fight,A most uncommon dreadful sightDid all their high-flown courage cool,And almost brought 'em to a stool:A heron, going out to stealSome fish for breakfast, caught an eel,Which he soon gobbled down to fill him,But did not take much time to kill him;On which the eel made such a routWithin his gut, he let him out,Just at the very time he flewOver this noisy, roaring crew.But the poor heron scream'd so loudTo lose his breakfast, all the crowdWhipp'd up their eyes to look, and soonThey saw the eel come wriggling down:The dreadful sight amaz'd 'em so,You might have fell'd 'em with a straw.The wise Polydamas we findRumbled this matter in his mind,But could not from his gizzard pluckThe eel, it in his stomach stuck;On which he with a sapient lookThus to his brother Hector spoke:Brother, says he, you often swearWhen you my faithful counsel hear;And though I speak but what I think,You like a heathen damn and sink;But I'm a Trojan, and shan't ceaseTo speak my mind in war or peace;All Englishmen that do so now,The people call them Trojans true.Then take my counsel, if you choose it;If not, you're welcome to refuse it:'Tis for your credit what I say,For you command, and I obey;This day depend you'll never do't(Don't swear till you have heard me out);The truth I never will conceal;This long-legg'd bird that sh – the eel,Jove sent just now to let us knowHow matters with ourselves will go.The bird had gobbled up his prey,But could not carry it away.Thus will it fare with us, depend on't:I'm sure it will, so mark the end on't:For though we tumble down the wall,And fire their rotten boats and all,I'll eat my hat, if Jove don't drop us,Or play some queer rogue's trick to stop us.This by my second-sight I know,And Endor's witch will tell you so;Or if she won't, by holy Paul,I'll make her conjure up king Saul!Hector replies in sober sadness:You'd make a man eat hay for madness;Blast your long jaws, you conj'ring knave,Is this the best advice you have?You know much better things, I'm clear,But dare not speak your mind for fear.Did not Jove send down Madam Iris,The rainbow wench, whose tail on fire is,To tell us we their bones should thwack?Then who the devil would turn back?Did not his rusty bomb-shell rollTill it half crack'd his mustard-bowl;And all the noise was to the right,Only to egg us on to fight?And think you I'll such orders slight,Or let a slipp'ry eel, God wot,Tell me if I shall fight or not?I own I may a motion feelTo eat a slice of collar'd eel;But eels can never, I've a notion,Make Hector feel a running motion,Unless they make his bowels loose,Then make him run to th' little house.A brave man waves his cudgel high,Asking no witch the reason why,But for his country's cause ding-dongLets fly his broomstick right or wrong:For thy part, I am pretty sure;Let who will fall thou'lt sleep secure;When all thy friends by scores are dropping,Thou'lt find some dirty hole to pop in;And, in the steps of Paris treading,Secure a hole to put your head in.But if a single Trojan followsSuch rogues' examples, by Apollo'sRed fiery whiskers I shall soonBe up with you and crack your crown!I'll keep this broomstick ready for you,So mind your hits, look sharp and stir you.At this he ran, and made a hallooFor all his ragged rogues to follow.These trusty Trojans, one and all,Obey their roaring leader's call;Like him they run, and roar, and shout,And make their broomsticks fly aboutThen Jove from Ida sent a gust,And blinded all the Greeks with dust —A stratagem he just then thought onWould greatly help this Trojan Broughton.Thus back'd by Jove, these roysters batterThe walls and gates with dreadful clatter,Pull up the stakes that fence the wall,And down the dirt and pebbles fall.But still the half-blind Grecians yetBattled as high as they could get,And sent a nimble-footed swainTo beg the tanners in Long-lane.Would lend them all their hides in hair,And tann'd ones too, that they could spare,With horns and hoofs; all which they laidTo stop the gaps that Hector made;Then close and box it tooth and nail,Whilst horns and broomsticks fly like hail.The two Ajaces stirr'd their stumps,And, whilst they deal most bitter thumpsAmongst the Trojans, were not slackTo clap their comrades on the back.The brave recover'd soon their frightBut rogues they kick'd to make 'em fight;Whilst one employ'd both foot and handIn drubbing rogues that durst not stand,The other spoke these words, or near it —And no bad speech but you shall hear it:Ye Grecians, who at country fairsHave shown yourselves good cudgel-players,By which you've got both hats and fame —And ye who hope to do the same —Though ev'ry man can't box his two,Yet something ev'ry man may do;The strong, good sturdy thumps may dealTo make yon scoundrel Trojans feel,And roar as loud as they, and louder;The weak will make good food for powder.A day is come when great and smallMust look out sharp; there's work for all,And ev'ry buck that is but boldMay gain new fame, or splice the old,Hearten the valiant on, and stopThe sneaking rogues that give it up.Then tune your rusty windpipes all,And roar as loud as you can bawl;For though we yield to Troy in whoring,We sure can match the dogs in roaring:Thus, if Jove pleases, we once moreMay drub 'em as we've done before.This speech reviv'd their courage so,That showers of broken pots they throw.Have you not seen a sodomiteAdvanc'd a very proper heightUpon a rare machine, which we,The vulgar, call a pillory?So fast and thick the crowd belowTheir rotten eggs and dung bestow,You see, in less than half an hour,The rogue and pillory cover'd o'er:So fast did broken pots and stonesFly down to break the Trojans' bones.Now Hector and his bucks did strive,The gates from off the hooks to drive:But did not gain of ground one inch,Nor would the purblind Grecians flinch.Jove quickly saw some help they'd need on,So sent his bastard, bold Sarpedon,And blew his courage up so high,He did not seem to walk, but fly;A greasy leather coat he wore,And high in air his pot-lid bore;A mighty furious targe it was,Made of a cow-skin tipp'd with brass.He shook two broomstaves thick and strong,And frowning lugg'd his knaves along.Thus have I seen an ill-look'd thief,By sailors call'd a press-gang chief,Look fierce though by a mob pursu'd,And ston'd and hiss'd at by the crowd;Yet, spite of all the distant war,Seizes some helpless, friendless tar:Just so this roaring blade SarpedonHis Lycian shirtless rogues did lead on,Darting such looks against the wall,As if he'd eat it stones and all;Then squinting at his trusty friend,Who always did his steps attend,Thus speaks: I'm sore afraid, friend Glaucus,That all the neighbourhood will joke us.What boots it then to have it said,That we chief constables are made,And therefore with churchwardens dine,Where we drink beer, and punch, and wine,Free gratis33, whilst poor rascals gape,And as we pass 'em bow and scrape?What signifies these honours, ifWe don't exceed these raff and riffAs much, or rather more, in fighting,Than either reading well or writing,Making the thick-skull'd varlets stareTo see us buy our posts so dear,And own we've earn'd by toil and sweatMore pudding than we e'er shall get?Then will each cry, Such folks may beChief constables, or lords, for me.Could all our cares but save our breath,Or ward a broken pate from death,I would not ask my friend to fight;More might be lost than gotten by't.But since grim Death will, soon or late,Lend us a swingeing knock o' th' pate,Whether, when once the fray's begun,We stay to box it out or run,And Old Age, with his grizzle' locks,Add gouty pains t' our half-curd pox,The life that brandy, whores, and clapsWill help old Time to steal by scraps,Let's boldly risque; that people may,Whene'er our names are mention'd, say,With one consent, both young and old,These honest souls are hearts of gold.The speech was hardly clos'd, when this chiefFound his friend ready cock'd for mischief;The Lycians shake their staves, and followTheir leaders with a whoop and halloo.As they mov'd forward, Peteus' sonLook'd sharp, and saw them coming on;Which put him in so great a fright,His long lank hair stood bolt upright,And in his weem he felt a motionAs if he'd ta'en a purging potion;But what was worst, he hardly felt itAbove a moment, ere he smelt it:On which he peep'd about to spyIf any trusty Greeks were nigh —When to his joy he saw the placesWhere Teucer stood with both th' Ajaces,Fighting like devils on a row;To whom he roars, So-ho, So-ho!But might as well have say'd his windTo cool his pottage; for we findThe clatt'ring cudgels make such noiseAs would have drown'd old Stentor's voice,Full on the walls their broomstaves bump,And on the gates their brickbats thump,Making such fearful din and rout,Jove's thunder seem'd but farting to't.When thus Menestheus speaks to Thoos;Those Lycian rogues to hell will blow us,If you don't run and tell th' Ajaces,How lamentably bad our case is;Urge them to scamper to our aid,For, o' my soul, I'm sore afraidOf that same roaring Lycian blade.Say from yourself, Pray, how the poxCan he defend his sentry-box,And, all alone, make good his quarters'Gainst such a host of Lycian Tartars?But if hard switch'd themselves they are,Beg they will bully Ajax spare,Along with serjeant Teucer, whoCan do good bus'ness with his bow.Away he starts, and like a manThrough all the crowd the beadle ran;He found the bullies on the plainBoxing it till they smok'd again:To whom he cries, Whilst here you fightWith riff-raff rogues from morn to night,Menestheus, in a sad condition,Has sent me humbly to petition,That some of you great heroes stoutWill come with me and help him out;For two great Lycian bullies nowThreaten to thrash him black and blue:But adds, if on this dang'rous pinchYou seem afraid these buffs will flinch,He humbly hopes great Ajax, you Sir,Will come along with serjeant Teucer.At this great Ajax faced aboutTo go himself and help him out;But though he was no friend to jawing,And knew 'twas time he should be going,He thought it proper now to saySomething before he march'd away:Brave Lycomede, and you Oileus,Says he, look sharp, and you shall see usGo drub yon lousy rogues, and thenWe'll in a twink be back again;But take great care you both stand fast,And battle till your broomsticks last;For, if you let your courage fail ye,Depend these Trojan whelps will nail ye!Then call'd Pandion, Hark ye, you Sir,Come here and take this bow for Teucer:Since Hector gave him such a fell blowUpon his stomach and his elbow,The harmless lad can scarce with easeLug his own share of bread and cheese.Then with long strides the thick-legg'd elfCarried his potlid and himself.Next Teucer after him did go,And then Pandion with the bow.Now on the wall the Lycians lowerLike a black heavy thunder shower;The Greeks, though mighty weak i' the joints,Receive 'em on their broomstick points,Renew the fray with double force,And roar till they're with roaring hoarse;And 'midst their bawling and their hissingThey cried, to keep themselves from p – g;Finding their water would come out,They thought it best, without dispute,Rather than wet both breeks and thighs,To let it bubble – through their eyes.Whilst thus they scuffle, Ajax soonCame up, and fetch'd Epicles down,A bottle friend of this Sarpedon,And one that he had often need on;Because like him no man, 'tis said,Could ferret out a maidenhead:By which you see he was an imp,By honest people call'd a pimp;But royal pimps despise disgrace,Because they're sure to get a place,Though their own sisters they should dish up,And then stand pimp like scoundrel B – .The clumsy Greek had pois'd his stick,When he espy'd a double brickHad tumbled from the wall: not twoOf our poor dogs could throw it now;Nor even with both hands could raise(They made large bricks in former days):He swung it round, away it fledTen yards above the Lycian's head,Then fell upon the varlet's crown,And with a rattle brought him down.Have you not seen the yonkers makeA diving-match upon the lake?Halfpence are to the bottom thrown,Which he that fetches calls his own;And that they may the deeper sink,Pop from the trees that shade the brink:Thus did the luckless Lycian fall,And nimbly div'd from off the wall;But did not when he touch'd the plainSo nimbly find his legs again.Glaucus was lugging at a stick,When Teucer gave his arm a prick;But as he knew his varlets wouldAll scamper, if they saw his blood,He took good care to hide the gap,And whipp'd it under his coat lap;Then finding he must leave the fray,Like an old fox he stole away,Sarpedon saw, and angry grewTo lose his pimp and bully too;But his great fury to engage,Soon made him turn his grief to rage,He seiz'd that time his staff to lay onA harmless Grecian call'd Alcmaon,A commissary's clerk, no fighter,But an accountant and a writer:Instant a bloody riv'let flowsFrom the unlucky varlet's nose,And as upon the grass he tumbled,His inkhorn 'gainst his ruler rumbled.Sudden the wall the conqu'ror shakes,And pulls up all the hedging-stakes:With such a force he shook, that soonRubbish by pecks came tumbling down,And made a gap as large and wideAs Madame ***'s, that would, if tried,Admit in any kind of weather,Two troopers on abreast together.At this bold Teucer twang'd his bow,And Ajax let a broomshaft go;The arrow stuck upon his belt,The besom-shaft his potlid felt:But though with rage the stick was cast hard,Jove swore it should not hurt his bastard.Howe'er, his fury did not slack,Although he drew a little back,Not with design to run, but thatHe might repay them tit for tat.Loud as a bell in Stepney steepleHe thus encouraged all his people:Lycians, who feast on cakes and ale,Let not your noble courage fail,Else Trojans will be apt to thinkSoup meagre's been your meat and drink.You see with many a bitter rapI've made at last a handsome gap,But I shall never gain the top,Unless you help to shove me up;Therefore let's join our jowls together,And pelt 'em spite of wind and weather.The Lycians heard this speech, and slapThey ran like smoke to reach the gap.The Greeks stood stiffly, and as soonAs they came up they knock'd 'em down;Nor did the Lycians, though so stout,Force in, or yet be quite kept out.Thus have I seen within a collegeTwo learned owls of little knowledgeDispute for hours, and, when they'd done,Leave off as wise as they begun;Nor would they in the annual roundObtain or lose one inch of ground;For, you'll observe, a learned tup,Though wrong, will never give it up.Just such a stubborn bout this wasTo gain or lose the dusty pass.Many bold Trojans ribs were smack'd,And many a Grecian's noddle crack'd;Whilst many a nose ran down with blood,And soak'd these dusty walls of mud.Under the Privy-garden wallTwo cupboard-doors compose a stall;Here you may see old Moggy BriggsWith caution weigh her rotten figs;No cast o' th' scale she gives the boys,But sells her ware on equal poise:Thus neither Greece nor Troy prevails,But stand like Moggy's rusty scales,Till bully Hector thund'ring came,And threw his weight upon the beam;Mad as a bull he scales the walls,And for his trusty Trojans calls;Come here, and bring each man a match,And we'll the lucky moment catch,And then, depend on't, in a twinkum,We'll either burn their boats or sink 'em.His voice once heard, these Trojan fightersBring out their link-boys and lamplighters;Not one of all the ragged packBut lugg'd a ladder on his back,Which they against the hedgestakes prop.And in a moment reach the top.Straight on the walls, the Greeks to fright,Appear'd to their astonish'd sightA fearful and amazing light:Their small remains of courage sinksTo see such shoals of lamps and links.Then Hector snatch'd up such a stoneAs Brandy Nanny stands uponIn Paul's church-yard; it weigh'd, I guess,'Bout half a ton, or more or less;Ten porters, strong as can be found,Would hardly lift it from the ground(In these our days of sloth and ease,When porters work just as they please):Yet this as easily he flungAs I could do a dried neat's tongue.But Jove himself, you'll understand,Lent him a sort of helping hand:And in these days great Jove could doAs much as popish saints can now.Thus arm'd, he ran t' attack the gates,Though rivetted with iron plates:Nestor, who, when the commonwealRequir'd his help, could gravely steal(A trade that soldiers quickly learn),Had stole 'em from a farmer's barn,Then drove 'em thick with heads of nails,Such as you see in country jails,Where nails are driven all aboutTo hinder thieves from stealing out:These gates, though stronger gates could notAt such a time of need be got,Were quite unable to resistThis weighty stone and mutton fist:With wondrous force he drove it throughThe plank, and broke the bars in two;In twenty thousand splinters shatter'd,The farmer's rotten gates lay scatter'd.But what completed all the jumble,One gate from off the hinge did tumble.Then Hector roar'd, Have at your pates!And darted headlong through the gates:In either hand he shook a stick,And look'd as if he'd eat 'em quick:For strength of fists and breadth of back,He beat the giant-killer Jack;And, moving with resistless force,Seem'd an o'ermatch for man and horse.The Trojans, with a dismal yell,Follow'd their thund'ring chief pell-mell,Whilst the poor Grecians all let fly,And ran to wipe their breeches dry.END OF VOLUME II